


Soon

by Get_below_my_line_of_vision



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-02-10 04:16:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18652729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Get_below_my_line_of_vision/pseuds/Get_below_my_line_of_vision
Summary: Grantaire can see past time, into the future, but after he develops feelings for his classmate, Enjolras, for the first time he wishes he would not be able to.





	1. Intro

As a little boy, Grantaire's mother always warned him not to foresee the future. She held his hand tightly one time and whispered in a shook voice not to tell anybody his secret. Keep it quiet. That was what he was told. He didn't quite remember what led to that moment. The moment of begging and desperation his mother displayed. Yet the scene was so severe in his memory; etched and sewn so forcibly, Grantaire could not escape the promise he had made.

Despite this, his life did not shift to the supernatural. In fact, he went to a normal school, had normal classes, and had normal friends-- well, friend: Combeferre.  
Their friendship sparked in an abnormal way. When doing a science project together, Combeferre made a joke in which Grantaire laughed excessively. It was so excessive that Grantaire felt he travelled through time. Usually when seeing the future, only his vision changes, however at that moment, he felt. He could feel the light-heartedness of the conversation the future two must've had. He could feel the tranquility of the situation. He could feel the warmth of the streams of sunlight from their window. They were in a room, a couple of feet apart, sitting on their respective beds. Combeferre had a beard, but it didn't suit him. He was chuckling at something. "That's amazing."  
He wore a pure smile, but that was the end of the memory segment.  
As soon as Grantaire returned back to the present in his mind, Combeferre barely noticed his mental absence as he was still chuckling at his own joke.

Grantaire could not decipher the special glimpse with Combeferre in it. They seemed to have been-- or will have been sharing a room together. So Grantaire assumed the two would attend university and become roommates.   
He also noted he shouldn't let Combeferre grow a beard. But that was of less of a priority.

In his school, Grantaire took English literature, fine art, and politics. His choices were very simple. He wished to be a painter and therefore took up practical painting as a subject to study. He picked English literature for he found great joy in randomly spouting poems to Combeferre and speaking in Latin, which resulted in even greater confusion. And Finally, he chose politics as that was the only subject he could sleep through and still succeed. That in no way meant he was good at the subject, no. It rather meant he was average at politics, and he didn't mind maintaining that stance.

In his classes there were not many students worth noting. Grantaire learnt that before he met anyone of grand significance, he would most likely get a flashforward to indicate what kind of relationship they would have. Grantaire did not view this as a burden. In fact, he enjoyed that there would be no suspense. He knew what he was getting.   
It was a gift: before someone introduces themselves to him, he knew how to introduce himself and know what kind of façade he should display.

When he entered his English class, he sat down and tried his best to listen to the teacher. His mind wasn't in the study-driven mode. That feeling was rare. Even when during his art classes.  
All he ever wanted to do was relax. If he could, he would lie face down on a floor and the rest would be history. But life had never been kind to him.

A memory segment was triggered. All of the sudden, Grantaire's vision transformed. Nothing about this was jarring; he was used to it.  
The guy next to him would lean over, "Hey I heard you talk to Combeferre. You speak Latin, right? What's up with that?" When Grantaire would turn, he saw the most beautiful and sincere smile he had ever seen up to date.  
When the segment ended, Grantaire pondered. The memory may come to life and that very class. So he tried to think of a response. He could deny the claim about Latin. After all, it is not a spoken language and therefore most people would not recognise it. However, the student beside him was very poetic and constantly raised his hand to answer any questions proposed by the teacher.   
"Hey I heard you talk to Combeferre. You speak Latin, right? What's up with that?"   
Grantaire almost whipped his head around to see the student sitting beside him. He did not suspect the moment would arrive so soon.  
"Y-yeah," he managed to get out.  
"Yeah?" The guy- Jean Prouvaire, he remembered, responded.  
"Um," Grantaire tried to elaborate, "I read old... Things."  
"Oh, so that means you can probably read other languages, right? Can you read ancient Greek?"  
Grantaire almost snorted. "No. Just Latin and English. And French. And Spanish."  
"No way," Prouvaire almost exclaimed before the teacher scolded him.  
After that, the conversation returned back to its normal stagnant state.   
What Grantaire couldn't tell him was that he was learning French and Spanish due to his many flashforwards including him taking in those said languages to others. In addition to that, the architecture surrounding him was also had a Spanish or French root, which had driven Grantaire to assume he was to live in both the countries, or at least visit them in the future. 

After a couple of scribbling of notes, Grantaire came to finally questkon why he viewed Jean Prouvaire talking to him. Even though his flashforwards seem to be about normal, average memories that randomly travels and visits the past, but that was not the case. Of all the memories he had seen, then experienced, had some sort of significance to him. Grantaire usually worked this out when the scenario appeared. However for this case, he could not figure out why Prouvaire's question was so important. It sure didn't feel like it.

After drawing a little character in his notebook, Grantaire looked up. For a moment he saw another student stare at him from the opposite side of the table. He then robotically turned his head to the teacher as if his name was being called out. Enjolras. Grantaire knew his name. He was the smartass of the class, bringing the class average grade up by one. The blondie never paid attention to Grantaire before, and so he dismissed the awkward momentary eye contact that they had, and classified the moment as a mistake.

When the class ended, Grantaire immediately rushed off in search of Combeferre. Sometimes he believed he was too clingy. Thus, he compared himself to 'Ferre, and concluded the two had no friends whatsoever. But it must also be addressed Combeferre was more social than Grantaire as he did communicate and socialise well with others. It was only the case of making friends. For some reason, 'Ferre only had one friend, but approximately one million acquaintances. Grantaire did the maths.

The rest of the day continued as normally as Grantaire could manage. Nothing out of the ordinary appeared.  
Satisfied with this result, he rested his head on his bed. The last thing he imagined before falling into sleep was the fascinating smile of Jean Prouvaire. Why was he so important? Why have a flashforward?   
Grantaire entered deep sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire watched a beautiful woman dance gracefully. She wore a black dress that flowed down to her knees. The material was thinking, allowing herself to look like she was flying as she spun. She sttod like a strong swan, her arms mimicking wings of the said creature.   
Grantaire remembered the dance was ballet. He found her so beautiful.

Elegantly, the woman spun and reached a direct stop, her back facing Grantaire. She then twisted her neck in a snap to face him. In anger, she ran towards him, like a monster.   
Consumed with the sudden fear, Grantaire tried to run away, then he began screaming as he though she had caught him. 

Sweating, he opened his eyes. It took some seconds, but he recognised that he was in his room.   
This was not the first time he had dreamt of this woman. Although last time she was a hunter. And the dream before that she was a maid. This night, she was a ballet dancer. 

Grantaire sat up. The room was cold in comparison to his bed. He shivered.

The outside was quiet. It was not night, yet it was not morning. Grantaire didn't want to sleep again. He didn't want to see her. Not again. Never again.  
He tried to recall why the same face was etched in his brain. But he did not know her. For the past year, he had tried to draw her face out, many in greatest detail, but no one in his memory claimed her. 

Grantaire flopped back, lying on his back on his bed.   
His vision did not turn blurry. Instead, light took over his vision as he got dressed. It probably had been hours since he last woke up, but it only felt like a second to him. For the largest chunk of his thoughts, he did not even think about the mysterious woman. Rather, only emptiness consumed him. His mind was a blank slate.  
Alas, he gave out an exaggerated, dragged out sigh and got ready for school.

Once he passed the school gates, Combeferre almost immediately greeted him. Automatically, Grantaire smiled. Everytime he saw 'Ferre's face, he always wanted to warn him not to grow a beard in the future. But that constant wanting to tell him that also meant his thoughts always revolved around that flashforward... Where Combeferre was smiling angelically...  
Grantaire shook his head due to the tangent of his thoughts. When he cautiously looked beside him to 'Ferre to see if he was watching him, but thankfully he was not. Rather, he was staring right ahead while talking non stop to Grantaire. Despite the tiny sting in his heart, he was quite happy 'Ferre has missed all his weird reactions to his flashforwards. He imagined when he does receive them, his body just stops functioning until he is brought back to the present. As a child he used to believe his body went limp as he had one of his 'visions'. The thought was funny at the time...

Combeferre walked with him to his first class of the day: politics. Grantaire understood that this gesture only translated to 'Ferre not wanting to get to class early. "Politics must be tough for you," Combeferre tried to sympathize.  
"Not if you don't pay attention," he shrugged back.  
Without warning (which he would've appreciated it), 'Ferre leaned in, their noses almost touching, "That's going to bite you in the ass someday."  
Heat rose to Grantaire's cheek but luckily the school bell chimed in so 'Ferre didn't have the chance to see it as he turned around with a quick goodbye. 

Behind him, Enjolras was unusually close to him; he was leaning against the wall, watching people rush to their class. Without wanting to, Grantaire watched him. He couldn't help it. Enjolras was almost flawless-- beautiful by all counts. He'd rather just call him Apollo.  
Suddenly Enjolras' vision ran down to Grantaire momentarily, then moved back to the late students passing by hurriedly in the corridor.   
Grantaire questioned this scene, but since there was no flashforward he deemed the act bore no significance. 

In the class, Grantaire spaced out. He sat next to Enjolras, in comparison to English, and the space between them was very awkward. Enjolras was always the optimistic know-it-all, while Grantaire was a cynic toad.   
While the teacher was blabbering on, Grantaire experienced a flashforward: it consisted of a beautiful woman with slight messy hair. She had blonde hair that reflected her sun to contrast her dark eyes. She was smiling and stretching out her hand. Nothing but the wind was heard in the two second segment.  
Grantaire returned back to the present. He seemed to recognize the face but he couldn't quite place where. Then his heart began to race; he recalled about the woman in his dreams.   
Quickly he began to sketch her face on his book, in desperate attempts to remember her face. He dreaded the thought of having double the nightmares with her as the addition.  
The teacher meanwhile noticed him "taking notes" and was proud. This statement (in which Grantaire ignored) intrigued Enjolras to see what he was so passionately writing. Instead, he remarked that Grantaire was sketching rather than writing. Of course. Enjolras almost laughed at himself for believing for a second that the boy next to him would ever pick up a pen and pay attention.


	3. Chapter 3

In the hallway, Grantaire ran into Enjolras, not even moved by the body slowly crashing into him. "Oh sorry," Grantaire was able to manage out of embarrassment.   
Plainly, Enjolras looked down at him, shrugged and muttered a "doesn't matter" and walked off. 

Out of awkwardness, Grantaire swivelled around to go to his next lesson in the opposite route to the direction Enjolras went to.   
Since he had never walked the long way round due to his laziness, he saw Jean Prouvaire waiting to get to English Language. Desparately, he hid his face until the voice he didn't even want to recognise called out, "Hey, R," Jehan waved excidedly to him.  
Grantaire was about to walk it off until he abruptly paused. Then turned around. He saw Jean's overexaggerated grin.   
"Uh, what did you call me? I'm Grantaire. You were referring to me, right?"  
"Of course! R."  
"Grantaire."  
"R." He nodded, agreeing to disagree.  
"Grantaire."  
"R."  
He cocked his head slightly.  
"Excuse him," a girl beside him held Jean's hand tenderly while laughing, "He found out Grantaire sounds like 'Grand R'."  
"You're not pronouncing it right," Jean scolded jokingly, "It's French." He turned quickly to Grantaire, "Like the language you speak."  
"No I speak another French." Grantaire said flatly.  
The girl beside him burst into laughter at the deflated sarcasm, "My name's Musichetta."  
"Or 'Muse'." Jean clarified despite the disinterest Grantaire was trying to present, "'Cause she's my muse."   
He held her hand, smiling goofily. Naturally, Grantaire smirked by seeing the two of them.  
Maybe that was the reason why he experienced the flashforward to Jean's introduction. Soon, they might become friends, not just awkward buddies. 

Jean's teacher opened the classroom door and Grantaire said goodbye to the two, and consequently got a scolding stare from the teacher as R realised he was now missing his lesson.

He rushed to Fine Art: the only class he truly enjoyed. Time was, well, timeless there. More like a hallucinogenic wave overcoming him. With a paintbrush, he saw the world in his intentions and in his beauty.   
Then, too soon, was the glory gone. This glimpse of everything that pleased him was the only educational thing the school had to offer him.   
Although Grantaire hated the teachers telling him off, most of the time they congratulated him for his detailed pieces. And more than anything Grantaire loved praise. It rang some bell in him about his past. But he couldn't remember what or who exactly. There were many dark blotches in his memories as if someone photoshopped parts of his precious sequences of his early life away. Gradually, Grantaire assumed there was someone or some people in his life who praised him continuously. For the first time, his body remembered before the brain.

After school, Grantaire bid his average goodbye to Combeferre and walked almost drunkly back home. He was deep in thought, he didn't think about how he was observed by other people. It was not like he would be friends with them in the near future. Also walking in zigzag and wobbly feet were funny to him. So hilarious that he was giggling to himself while he was looking up at the sky, as if farther he could see up, the more he could dig deep into his memories.  
Then he felt two hands grasp his shoulders. At first he thought of the reoccurring woman in his dreams. He almost stopped immediately until he heard a familiar voice-- not commonly heard, but easy to recognise, "What's wrong with you? Are you drunk?"  
Upon hearing his voice, his first reaction was to grin widely until he realised how strange that would have seemed, and instead he tried to keep a straight face as he turned to face the source of the voice, "Of course I'm not drunk, Enjolras. Where would I find nice beverages at school?"  
"Then why are you walking weird?" His left hand had not moved from his shoulder.   
"I always walk this way." Grantaire shrugged.  
"No you don't." He quickly fired back.  
Grantaire had officially ran out of dialogue.   
Enjolras, however, slowly looked down to his left hand and swiftly took it away, like his shoulder was full of spiders.  
For a while the two just looked at each other awkwardly until Grantaire gradually turned around to continue walking. Beside him, Enjolras' presence was evident. Looked like they lived around the same area. Not that it mattered. They didn't talk for the rest of the way to their respective homes.


End file.
